


Kisses, Kisses Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

by tcwordsmith



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, four plus one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcwordsmith/pseuds/tcwordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kissing is like drinking salted water. You drink, and your thirst increases.”—Chinese Proverb</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses, Kisses Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pnelmatirian](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pnelmatirian).



> This is a gift for the stupendous pnelmatirian because school is hard and kisses are sweet.

1\.  Marcus catches a flash of something out of the corner of his eye and looks up from his computer. A gloved hand shoves into the pocket of a jacket and he follows the arm all the way up to the face. “Sherlock,” he greets the consulting detective warily.

“Detective Bell! Having a lovely day I hope?” Sherlock smiles openly but Marcus remains suspicious.

“What’d you do, Holmes?” He demands, looking around his desk.

Sherlock shrugs and quickly pulls out his cell phone, heading for the door. “Nothing I suppose,” he replies distractedly, “Have to dash, Watson texted. Inspector Gregson requires my presence at the scene again.”

“Whatever,” Marcus mutters and shakes his head.  He takes another look around his desk and narrows his eyes, “SHERLOCK. Where’s my kiss?” He can’t believe he didn’t notice the candy was missing.

 

2\.  “ _URGENT. ASST GR8LY DESIRED BRING COFFEE_ ” and an address is all that greets Marcus when he checks his phone during lunch.  The text seems to have just come in, but then Sherlock does tend to have impeccable timing.  Marcus sighs, looks at his sandwich, then at his phone, and finally at the clock.  Then he nods decisively to himself, grabs his sandwich and his coat and heads for the door.  The address is one of the corporate towers not too far from the precinct; he figures he can eat on the way and make it back before lunch is over. Hopefully.

“I’m Detective Bell, my associate Sherlock Holmes requested I meet him here?” Marcus says, fumbling to show the receptionist his shield without setting the coffees down.  He’s fairly impressed at how easily he found the building.

“Detective Bell! Yes, Mr. Holmes is in Conference Room Six.  Down the hall and to your left,” she smiles politely and gestures away from the desk.

Marcus nods and puts his badge away, walking down the hall.  Whatever Sherlock was up to, it’d better be worth braving Moe’s during the lunch rush.

He reaches the conference room just as the door opens. “Ah! Marcus, darling!” Sherlock calls from the front of the room, “Punctual as always, and with coffee too. I’m terribly sorry, you’ll have to excuse me—I haven’t seen this man all day.”  He smiles charmingly and leaves his spot behind the podium. Marcus does his best to keep the confusion out of his face.

“Thank you, Detective,” Sherlock murmurs when he reaches the door.  He plucks a coffee from the holder, the correct one to Marcus’s surprise, and drops a kiss on Marcus’s cheek. “The libations here are simply abysmal.”

“I—you’re welcome? Sherlock. Don’t abuse my phone number for coffee,” he tries to be stern, but mostly he’s confused. “Wait—you just—” Sherlock just kissed him!

Sherlock winks and heads back to the front of the room, “Thank you again, sweetums, for coming on your lunch break.  You know I would be lost without you.” He waves and the executives in the room mostly look bemused by the situation.

Marcus manages to refrain from shaking his head as he leaves.

 

3\.  He’s late. He’s so very late, but Andre was looking at his car, which had broken down, and he’d had to take the subway and then a bus to get to the station and by the time he got there Gregson had already left for the crime scene so he’d had to find someone headed to a traffic beat out that way who would take him and it’d been ridiculous.  By all accounts, he’s ridiculously late and has no one to blame but himself.  As he gets to the scene, the coroner and his assistant are shutting the ambulance doors and taking off for the morgue.  Marcus sighs, tosses his now-empty coffee cup in the trash on the sidewalk and heads into the apartment.

“Ah! Detective Bell! So good of you to join us,” Sherlock says, bounding over to the door just as Marcus walks in. “I was just telling Watson I thought it odd you hadn’t arrived yet.  I did hear the bus was running a touch late this morning; I suspect Officer Marten was kind enough to drop you off?”

Marcus rolls his eyes, “Yes, she was on her way over here anyway, so I managed to catch a ride.”

Sherlock grins, “Excellent, excellent.”  Without further warning, he grabs Marcus’s hand and pulls it to his mouth to drop a kiss on his knuckles, “Come along then, you’ve quite a bit of catching up to do! Watson has made numerous intriguing forays in the last half hour.  I’d like to see what you see as well!”  He doesn’t let go of Marcus’s hand, simply holds on and pulls him through the apartment and closer to where the scene starts.

 

4\.  “Watson insisted we had ample time to stop for coffee and…pastries on our way in this morning,” Sherlock says by way of greeting.  He drops a small pastry bag on Marcus’s desk and sets a cup of coffee next to it. “As if the department’s microfiche on the 1885 Troy murders isn’t waiting for me down the hall. But there you go. I suppose I owe you for last time anyway.”

Marcus turns from where he was digging in his filing cabinet for an old case and raises an eyebrow, “That’s…Uncharacteristic of you,” he sets a small stack of files on his desk and tips the pastry bag toward himself with two fingers, “An orange cranberry muffin? How did you even…” He raises his head and notes that Sherlock is already striding away.  That won’t do.

He grabs the thin file on top of his stack, it goes with the microfiche Sherlock is after today, something he was idly studying himself, and sets off after the man.  Marcus’s strides are a bit longer than Sherlock’s, even if Sherlock tends to walk faster, and he catches up just as Sherlock turns a corner, into a mostly deserted hallway.  He reaches out and sets a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, slowing the man down and turning him around. 

When Sherlock is turned around, Marcus belated realizes how close the two of them actually are.  Sherlock’s gaze flicks from Marcus’s face to the hand on his shoulder and then down to the file before landing on Marcus’s face again.  Without much thought, Marcus leans into the negligible space between them and quickly brushes his lips against Sherlock’s.

“Thank you, Holmes,” he murmurs, pressing the file into Sherlock’s hands before turning back to his desk.

 

+1.  “We could have been doing this _weeks_ ago, you realize,” Sherlock mutters against Marcus’s mouth.  Marcus kisses him hard, trying to demand he _stop talking_ so they can get on with _this_ already.  “I had you pegged for only needing the one kiss to deduce the nature of my intentions,” he continues, still unbuttoning Marcus’s shirt while Marcus tries to figure out the buckle on his belt.

Marcus huffs triumphantly as he tosses the defeated belt away and pulls Sherlock’s jumper up over his head. “You could have just stated your intentions,” he says, stealing a space in the brief moment between getting the jumper over Sherlock’s head and throwing it on the floor as well.

“That’s not nearly as sporting as kissing you and seeing how it all—shakes—out,” Sherlock struggles to finish his sentence between kissing Marcus and working to get both of their pants off while Marcus kicks off his shoes.

“No,” Marcus agrees, kissing Sherlock one more time before pushing him backwards onto the bed, grinning when he hits hard enough to bounce a bit, “But it’s amazing how much faster it goes.” He lands on the bed as well and covers Sherlock’s body with his own.  He laces their fingers together and presses Sherlock’s hands against the mattress while Sherlock continues to kiss him.

Sherlock pulls back for just the moment, “You do realize I’ve a tortoise at the brownstone, and not a hare, yes?” Marcus rolls his eyes and gets down to deducing exactly what it takes to silence one Sherlock Holmes for at least five minutes.


End file.
